


Don't Shoot the Messenger

by riggs



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Modern Character in Middle Earth, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Multi, Queer Dwarves, neurodivergent characters, this site keeps shuffling around my tags and it angers me, will probably tag more when I know what's going to happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24749848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riggs/pseuds/riggs
Summary: "I see all," she said, low and grim.The gravity of her words left the room quiet. And then she backtracked."Okay, wait, maybe notall. That might've been an overstatement, but I do seea lotof things."
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Fili/Wren(OC), Fíli/OC, Kíli/Tauriel, might add more later - Relationship
Comments: 45
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes this trope is dumb, but it's also fun & I wanted to take a crack at it  
> embrace the things that make you happy

Ada Cotton could hardly believe what she was seeing when her two young boys, Benny and Branson, had come skipping up the road, dragging behind them a tall, waifish human woman, as if she were a stray puppy they had found. 

They came bounding up, chattering like a pair of squirrels about their new friend, while the girl herself seemed skittish, but polite, and apologized for appearing uninvited. Though, Ada supposed, her boys had done the inviting, so she really couldn't be blamed. 

And once the poor thing had explained that she was lost, it was no matter at all inviting her inside for some afternoon tea. 

Let it be known that if hobbits held anything higher than respectability, it was hospitality. 

Her name was Wren Aguilar, and wasn't that just the oddest thing? Certainly, Ada had never heard of any 'Aguilars', be they hobbit or tall folk, and those didn't even always have family names to start. 

By men's-age, she was barely full grown, and apparently had no idea how she had come to be in the Shire at all. The boys had found her wandering the paths outside Hobbiton in a daze. 

She was a lovely visitor, even if her mind did tend to wander some. Ada noted how well she got on with the children, allowing herself to be pulled into games of make-believe and hide-and-seek; and when Ada's twin girls (still babes) had begun to fuss, Wren was able to put them down for afternoon nap with hardly any trouble. 

"I'm a nanny," she explained quietly. "Or, uhh...I guess I used to be."

She chose not to pry. The girl hadn't been very forthcoming on herself, but Ada considered herself a very good judge of character, besides, and could sense no ill will from the girl. 

There was a brief conversation concerning what she planned to do next, and whether she intended to find her way home. 

"Oh no, I don't think right now I could go back, even if I wanted to." 

There was a story in that, to be sure, but Ada chose to shelf that for now. 

"So then. You plan to stay in Hobbiton?"

"Umm..."

"Because if you did, I would very much appreciate a nanny's help around here."

Wren blinked slowly, processing.

"Wait...really?"

"Yes, really," she said kindly.

Truthfully, Ada had not been on the search for a nanny before now, but that was only with how busy she was, and she wasn't likely to pass up the opportunity in front of her. She and her husband had been doing quite well for themselves recently, so they had the coin to spare. And to be honest, her glass blowing studio was no place for fauntlings, but after the girls were born, she hadn't had much choice.

It also did Ada's heart good to see some light come back to the girl's eyes at the offer. So they came to an agreement. She would work five days a week, from second breakfast 'til dinner, looking after the little ones while Ada and her husband, Stanford, worked, and they would pay her two silver pennies a day. 

Their next problem soon became: where would Wren be staying? Benny and Bran claimed excitedly that their new nanny should live with them. Sadly, their mother had to remind them that their tiny home was already filled to bursting.

"What about The Green Dragon? I think I remember that's close to Hobbiton..."

"I'd be willing to give you an advance for the night, if need be, dear, but long-term an inn's price'll run you dry. No, best if we find you something else."

Their answer came home with her husband, who instantly took a shine to their new helper.

"Why, you should ask Mr. Baggins up Bagshot Row! There must be plenty of space in that big smial of his, and a Baggins certainly wouldn't turn away someone in need."

•

Bilbo's new tenant was an odd little thing - well, perhaps not little in the literal sense, she had over a foot of height on him, but after learning that she was half his age, he felt the description fit all the same. 

After appealing her case, along with the good word of the Cottons, he had been more than willing to set her up in one of his spare bedrooms. It wasn't as if they were seeing much use, otherwise. She had insisted on paying him rent, but Bilbo wouldn't hear a word of it. He would not take what little money she earned from the Cottons, only for a place to rest her head at night. 

Eventually, they settled on a system where Wren would cook their meals, when she was home.

"Although, you by no means have to, should you not feel up to it," Bilbo amended. 

She huffed at him for that.

He considered the matter settled and showed her to her room, and along the way gave a small tour of Bag End. The look in her eyes was - _fond_ was the appropriate word. He saw her smile, truly, for the first time since meeting - a small thing meant only for herself - and Bilbo decided that, yes, taking her in had been the right decision. 

They lived well together. The two would wake early and enjoy their breakfast, and company, before Bilbo saw Wren off on her short commute to the Cottons'. Sometimes he would even join her, on his way to morning market. In the evenings she made dinner and supper, as promised, though more often than not, Bilbo would end up helping anyway. She pretended to be offended. He pretended to ignore her, and they would bicker happily throughout their meal. 

In truth, Bilbo had seen the longing in her face when she cooked alone, looking for something - or maybe _someone_ \- that wasn't there. 

The first month in had been the worst of it. Hobbits by nature were a happy and content sort, but even they were not immune to troubles of the mind. He knew what a depressive spell looked like, despite the brave face she tried to put on for all of them. On her off days she was listless, with nothing to occupy her mind or keep her busy. She would simply sit and stare into nothing, or else not get out of bed at all.

It was like living with a ghost.

But Bilbo had wanted to see that smile again.

So he made a point of being there. They cooked together. He would take her on strolls around the Shire. One evening, he dug out his father's old chess board and coaxed her into a game. They played until midnight, and from then on, every evening after supper they would make the time for a round or two. 

Over one such game, she asked him, in her quiet, careful way, "Bilbo...is all of this real?"

He scrunched his brow, confused for a moment, but gave the question proper consideration.

"Here, take my hand."

She did. Despite her frame, her hands were nearly as small as his. 

"Can you feel that?" he asked her. "The heat of my skin? The weight of it? That is real, and so I am real. And rest assured, my girl, you are also very real to me. In the end, I believe that's all that matters."

She wasn't instantly better after that. Matters such as these are unfortunately never so cut and dry. But she laughed more. She danced. There were more good days than bad, after that first month in, and that was important. 

•

She drank her coffee cold.

After directing Wren to his supply of beans in the larder, she proceeded - with permission - to grind up several servings, tie it all up in a makeshift filtered bag, and submerge the lot of it into the largest basin she could find, filled with ice water. Cold Brew, she called it. 

Upon asking where she had learned the process, Wren simply said, half distracted by her work, "I was a barista for five years back home. I know what I'm doing." Whatever in the world that meant.

He would admit, later, that it was quite an enjoyable drink to have on warm days, relaxing in his garden. Particularly with vanilla and cream. 

The coffee, at least, was the tamest of her eccentricities. 

Learning that she had no concept of money had given him quite the start. 

_"Mierda,_ I know how money works," she rolled her eyes.

"Language."

"Sorry. It's just different where I'm from. I have no frame of reference for value here."

"And yet you are currently being paid a salary." 

"I trust the Cottons to pay me fairly. Besides, I didn't have a lot of options when I first arrived."

True enough. Still, it bothered Bilbo to have her so willfully ill informed. Old Toddy Bolger had a bad habit of marking up the price of his vegetables, when he thought he could get away with it. No, he would not have anyone taking advantage of his tenant. 

He sat her down that night and they had a lesson on the currency of the Shire, and then some others in Middle Earth for good measure. 

She complained, but it was all half-hearted. He could tell she secretly enjoyed the whole thing. 

After a time, Wren finally saved enough coin to commission herself a decent wardrobe, and Bilbo insisted on introducing her to his tailor. She seemed mildly uncomfortable with the whole ordeal, as if she'd never had her clothes fitted before. Imagine!

The tailor had never made clothes for tall folk, so it took up more of the day than Bilbo expected, and by the end of the fitting, both of his guests were in a state. Wren had been adamant on owning some comfortable trousers, to which the tailor had replied that hobbit-lasses simply did not wear trousers - which was true, but then again, Wren was not a hobbit-lass. 

They only cooled enough to reach an agreement after Bilbo served his finest blend of tea, and a week later Wren had a nice selection of dresses, blouses, skirts, and one pair of trousers.

New shoes, for obvious reasons, she had to buy in Bree. They decided to make a day of it, and Bilbo couldn't help but notice that she also bought for herself a large traveling pack and a nice, mid-length coat. 

Of course, it was no concern of his what she bought with her own coin, and she was not obligated, by any means, to stay in Bag End forever. 

"It's only that the Cottons are very fond of you now, and what ever will those faunts do without their nan?"

Rather than answer, she asked him, "How old are you this year, Bilbo?"

He blinked, nonplussed for a moment. She always found the oddest ways to throw him off. 

"I, well, I'll be forty-nine this autumn. Though, I'm not at all sure what that has to do with the conversation at hand."

She only smiled at him cheekily, as they trekked their way back home. 

"Don't worry, you silly hobbit. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

He 'hmmed' at her, before deciding the answer suitable. Later on down the road, he overheard her muttering to herself - something about 'two years' - but he chose not to press. 

Whatever may happen in two years, he told himself, could wait until then.

•

Wren had two years to prepare for Thorin and company. Technically less than two, since Bilbo's birthday fell in the middle of their quest. She knew that she hadn't been brought to Middle Earth by whatever powers may be to simply sit in Bag End and wait around while Bilbo traded barbs with a dragon.'

The timing was too on the nose. 

The quest must've been the reason she was there. 

Except, there was no fucking way she would be any help on a dangerous journey through the wilderness, fighting orcs and goblins and trolls! She was a skinny, 5'4" grad student with clinical depression. And ADHD. 

Her only advantage in this world was a vague knowledge of future events.

A decent knowledge of future events.

Okay, so she owned all six extended editon box sets, marathoned them regularly, and re-read her copy of The Hobbit at least once a year.

Maybe, with a lot of planning and a shit-ton of luck, _maybe,_ she could make this work. 

After living with Bilbo for a year (and what the actual fuck, she was _living with Bilbo Baggins_ ) life in Hobbiton had finally become a new normal. Most of the hobbits knew her, at least superficially, and had come to like and/or tolerate their new 'tall folk' resident. The home-town feel of the Shire, where everyone knew everyone else, reminded her of - well, of home.

The Cottons were wonderful, and the kids had grown on her the way every job did, like they were _family._ It would be hard to leave them, when the time came. 

Preparing for that inevitable night wasn't easy with Bilbo being as clever as he was. Of course, she wanted him to be clever. A clever hobbit was a not dead hobbit. But she was sure that he thought her more than a little insane. It was a good thing he seemed to like her so much.

Reading through the small library in Bilbo's study wouldn't have been the oddest request in the world, if she didn't have to constantly ask him what words meant. Despite the fortunate similarities of Westron and English, there were some words that had Sindarin roots or stemmed from a regional dialect of men that translated poorly.

Damn that fucking linguistics nerd. 

The books didn't turn out to be much help anyway. She read them all, because, well why not? But there was little to nothing on dwarves, and nothing that she felt pertained to the immediate task at hand. 

Bilbo's maps were helpful, but only in proving that the company would already take the fastest route to the mountain, with or without her help. 

The one time Wren had asked Bilbo if he was interested in learning to use a sword, he'd laughed at her. 

Fair. 

It wasn't as if they had anyone around to teach them. Rangers passed through the Shire rarely, and their job was to protect the people of Eriador, not teach self defense classes. 

In the end, all Wren had going for her was foresight, and that wouldn't even matter if the dwarves didn't believe her. Or if Gandalf didn't trust her. 

She was going to have to be careful with what she said. Maybe a little underhanded. 

And that, she realized one morning with a hollow ache in her chest, meant lying to Bilbo.

•

The winter after Bilbo's fiftieth birthday was, thankfully, a mild one. The rangers admirably kept the wolves and other fell creatures to the north, and there were no terrible storms or hard freezes. It was a simple winter, which was just what Bilbo preferred. 

Wren was on holiday, since Stanford Cotton didn't have to work the fields during the cold months, and fell into the habit, as she had the previous year, of running Bilbo's errands for him. He tried to argue that it wasn't necessary. He was a perfectly able hobbit - despite the snow freezing his toes - and however was he to fill the time if she insisted on doing everything? But, he supposed, it made her feel useful. 

Prior experience proved that an idle Wren was an unhappy Wren, and more likely to find herself trouble. 

So she did the shopping.

She came home one brisk afternoon from the market, carrying not only the groceries, but some sort of instrument Bilbo had never seen before. It almost resembled a lute, only there weren't enough strings and the shape was wrong.

Wren called it a 'ghi-tar'.

"A _guitar_ ," she corrected. The word rolled smoothly off of her tongue. "Or something like it. It's not exactly the same, but shit, Bilbo! I haven't played a guitar in years. Not since I ended up here."

Her eyes lit up as she tuned the thing, like nothing he'd ever seen. Bilbo was happy, truly, that she had found something to remind her of home. 

It became a common thing, for Bilbo to listen to Wren play as he lounged in his chair by the fire. There was a period of adjustment, she explained, as it wasn't quite her same instrument and two years without practice was sure to affect her performance. 

Bilbo honestly couldn't tell. She played beautifully, and more confidently as the days went by. 

She never sang, however. Sometimes she would hum to herself quietly, as her fingers plucked at the strings, but the happy tunes she played for him were only ever instrumental. 

Until one morning.

He woke to the sound of music playing, and then halting. A pause, and then it would pick up again, tentative and unsure. Occasionally a sour note snuck in, and was then corrected.

She was writing. 

Bilbo dressed and made his way to the parlor, eager to listen as Wren composed a new piece, but the smile fell from his lips at the sight of her. She was tucked into his largest armchair, hair unkempt and eyes bruised, looking like she hadn't slept a wink. She was even still in her night clothes. Her strumming only stopped once he cleared his throat, startled, as if she hadn't noticed him enter. 

"Are you alright there, Wren?" 

"Bilbo...I..."

She seemed nervous, fidgety and unable to look him in the eye for long. He sat next to her and took one of her hands into his.

"What ever is the matter, dear girl?"

"...couldn't sleep." 

"Was it because you were writing a song?" 

She bit her lip and looked away.

"¿ _Cómo digo esto? No quiero..."_

"Wren?" Bilbo asked kindly. "In a language I speak, if you would please."

"...yes...and no. I had a dream. Will you listen?"

He nodded, squeezed her hand briefly, and sat back as she settled herself to play.

[[instrumental]](https://youtu.be/4B2tKkg_2q8)

The song was slow and sorrowful, full of quiet mourning. And then she began to sing. 

_"Oh, misty eye of the mountain below_

_Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls_

_And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke_

_Keep watching over Durin's sons_

_If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together_

_Watch the flames climb high into the night_

_Calling out father, oh_

_Stand by and we will_

_Watch the flames burn auburn on_

_The mountain side_

_Aye,_

_And if we should die tonight_

_Then we should all die together,_

_Raise a glass of wine for the last time_

_Calling out father, oh_

_Prepare as we will_

_Watch the flames burn auburn on_

_The mountain side_

_Desolation comes upon the sky_

_Now I see fire, inside the mountain_

_I see fire, burning the trees_

_And I see fire, hollowing souls_

_I see fire, blood in the breeze_

_And I hope that you remember me."_

As the song came to a close, she set the guitar down by the foot-rest and curled her legs up into the chair with her, hugging them to her chest. Green eyes looked at him nervously. She was waiting for him to say something.

Bilbo thought carefully for a moment. Although his instinct often was to take care of Wren, like one of his younger cousins, he had to remember that she was an adult and deserved to be treated as such. If she was sharing this with him, she must have felt it important.

"This fire in the mountain - you dreamt this?"

"Yes."

"Was it a memory? Perhaps, something you'd witnessed before?"

Ada Cotton told him how Wren had seemed lost in a fog when they first found her. And with how secretive she was with her past, anything was a possibility.

But she shook her head.

"No, it wasn't from my life...but it felt real," she admitted.

"I believe that," he said kindly. "Unfortunately, I don't know that there's any way for us to prove that it _was_ real."

There was a thought, in the back of Bilbo's mind, that he feared to entertain for too long, and so he didn't. 

His priority at present was Wren. He distracted her with breakfast, and then second breakfast, and chess, and eventually her smile returned.

They agreed to put the song away for a later time. 

•

There were too many instances, after that first morning, of Wren somehow knowing things that she very well _shouldn't,_ for Bilbo to stay ignorant long, despite what he might have wished. He was an observant hobbit, and Wren not so well of an actress as she liked to believe.

Like the time she asked innocently after his cousin Drogo, and whether he and Primula were getting on.

Were they ever.

Those tweens were head over heels for each other, but Drogo had yet to make any sort of official declaration. He had confided in Bilbo early that spring, worried what their other Baggins relatives would think of him pursuing a Brandybuck girl. 

Bilbo told as much to Wren, who then floundered and tried to give him some clearly made up excuse, before leaving the room entirely.

And then, only last week, she asked when he planned to re-paint his front door.

"How did you know I was going to have it painted?"

Her eyes flittered around nervously as she answered, "You mentioned it, a few days ago..."

"Indeed."

Indeed he had not. Bilbo had only decided his front door needed a re-painting that morning, after checking the letter-box. 

There was no denying it any longer. Wren could see events that had yet to transpire. How, he hadn't the slightest idea, and he'd wager that neither did she. The entire thing seemed to leave her on edge.

He worried for his tenant. The day after his door was painted, she terminated her employment with the Cottons - Stanford assured him that they left each other on good terms, after a long, tearful goodbye. He found her packing her large travel bag that night, and was sure that this must've been what she meant those two years ago. Bilbo didn't know why or to where, but she was leaving them, and he began bracing himself for his own goodbye.

Except it never came. 

Two days passed, and she was still in Bag End. 

Then three.

He didn't say anything, and so they simply carried on as normal.

Of all things, she seemed strangely intent on keeping his larder stocked. 

Finally, near the week's end, Bilbo could no longer endure the uncertainty, and confronted her over dinner.

"Are you leaving me?"

She blinked at him owlishly over her chicken and greens, rightly startled by his outburst.

"Oh, goodness. Forgive me, I didn't mean for that to sound so, well, so sensitive. But...are you? Leaving?"

"Bilbo...do you think I'm leaving without you?"

It was Bilbo's turn to feel utterly perplexed. 

" _Without me?_ Why in the world would I-... Wren, have you _seen_ something? Is that why you've been so off this past week - is something about to happen?"

She chewed her bottom lip as she thought - it was a habit she hated but could never seem to shake. He could tell she'd been losing sleep, but this didn't feel like the other times, when her mental health had waned. This was Wren focused, singularly, on some task Bilbo could not see. She took his hand across the table and squeezed, and it did comfort him some. 

"I'm sorry. I know I've been weird lately. Something _is_ going to happen soon, but the closer we get, the less specifics I realize I have to go on. It's better not to worry until it gets here, trust me." 

"I do." 

"Thank you. Just...let me know the next time you get an odd visitor."

"Besides you?"

She laughed. 

"Yes, besides me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a playlist of songs Wren can play on guitar [here!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNJWlF_mqM6ti4D8YZtgis00XnhYC4Zy7)  
> I might add more later  
> I want her to be able to play a bunch of nerdy music b/c she's big nerdy
> 
> Just in case it needs to be said, Wren didn't write any of the songs she plays, she only does covers  
> In the case of "I See Fire", she'd never played it before, so she stayed up all night working it out from memory
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I'm not fluent in spanish, I only know certain phrases I grew up around, so if anything looks off, please let me know!
> 
> **Spanish Translations:**  
>  _Mierda_ \- Shit  
>  _¿Cómo digo esto? No quiero..._ \- How do I say this? I don't want to...  
>   
> [Come talk to me on tumblr!](https://theonewren.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited chapter one - nothing major, just sprinkled some Spanish into Wren's dialogue. I'd been hesitant to include it b/c I'm not fluent but it felt wrong leaving it out.  
> So, if you wanna go back and read that...it's there

Bilbo thought he'd have more time. He certainly didn't think the very next morning would include an appearance from Gandalf the Grey! Odd visitor indeed! Bilbo had been under the impression Wren meant a disgruntled relative of his, or perhaps someone from her past. Did she know Gandalf? He was a _wandering_ wizard after all, but Bilbo hadn't thought to ask. 

He hadn't had the mind to say much of anything beyond 'Good Morning'. 

Bilbo was not up for an adventure, not in the slightest. But Wren obviously seemed to be, if the packs by the door were any indication. She was out on morning errands, determined to keep Bilbo at Bag End whenever possible, and he now had a suspicion as to why. When she returned, he met her at the gate with a hard look. 

"Odd visitors?"

"You saw Gandalf." At least she had the decency to be upfront about it. 

"And you saw me...see him. Oh, bother it all! This is ever so confusing!"

She followed as he stormed back into the house. He felt her gaze trail his back as he thundered through the door. She set the groceries on the table and began to wring her hands. 

"Are you mad?"

Bibo set his jaw and attempted to breathe.

"I am...I honestly don't know what I am at the moment, my girl." He turned to her, locking eyes. "But I am done with guesses and half-truths. Tell me everything."

"I will," she agreed easily. "But we have to make supper first."

"What?"

•

It was barely elevensies and they were already preparing for supper, and not just any supper. Bilbo wasn't sure a party of hobbits could even eat it all. His larder was emptying by the minute. Every so often, he would ask if they were done, to which Wren gave the table a quick once-over and declared it not enough. 

They talked while they worked. Or rather, Wren would talk and Bilbo occasionally felt like fainting.

A company of dwarves was due to arrive at Bag End by nightfall, invited by the grey wizard himself! They sought to reclaim their home, the Lonely Mountain, which had been stolen by a dragon named Smaug. It all sounded so fanciful, like something out of one of his mother's adventure books - a made up story told at bedtime. 

This was what Wren had seen all those month ago - the mountain engulfed in flame that she sang of. She knew then, that the dwarves would come to Bag End, and Bilbo didn't quiet know how to feel about that.

She'd apologized profusely for keeping him in the dark, and he'd accepted it easily because, well, it was Wren after all, but the whole business still left him uneasy. 

Foresight.

Dragons.

Adventures.

Bilbo was just a hobbit after all, and a Baggins! He'd never travelled further than Bree once in all his life. How was he meant to be of any help on such a quest? But Wren seemed so confident that he would join them. It left his head spinning, trying to think about it, so he focused on making apple pie.

By the end, they were up to their ears in food, all spread across Bilbo's longest table in the dining room. 

The doorbell rang, for the first time, just after nine. Bilbo ran to answer the door, and standing on the other side was quite possibly the tallest dwarf Bilbo had ever seen - not that he'd seen very many, mind. Only the occasional merchant from the Blue Mountains. 

"You must be Mr. Dwalin. Please, do come inside," he gestured amicably. Regardless of the circumstances, he would not be a sub-par host. 

Dwalin looked nonplussed for a moment before obliging. Taking off his cloak as he entered the foyer, he asked, "Have we...met before?"

"Hmm? Oh no, but Wren assured me that the first to arrive would be named Dwalin." He urged the dwarf to follow as he walked further in. "Please, make yourself comfortable. Supper is just down the hall here."

"I appreciate the hospitality, Master..."

"Bilbo Baggins. And you're quite welcome to it."

"Master Baggins."

They caught Wren in the hallway. She was headed to the parlor, her guitar in hand. 

"Just set the last of the dishes out. Balin should be here soon," she said passively, though Bilbo noticed her glance nervously at Dwalin.

She confided to him, earlier that evening, that it scared her somewhat, the prospect of meeting dwarves that had previously only ever been in her head.

_"It was kind of the same with you,"_ she'd said. _"But not as intimidating. You were easier - like seeing an old friend for the first time."_

Bilbo could only imagine how jarring it must be for her. That the dwarf behind him was openly staring at her in bewilderment probably didn't help any. 

The rest of their visitors arrived quickly after that, one after the other, and each was shown to the dining room to the cheer of the rest. They were...spirited, and more than a little messy, but still he couldn't say they were the worst guests he'd ever had. Certainly more enjoyable company than the Sackville-Baggins'. And the warning of their arrival had tempered his expectations. Wren insisted that she wasn't hungry, and Bilbo didn't press. She stayed in the parlor, quietly playing her instrument - enough out of the way that no one payed her much mind, but close enough still to eavesdrop. 

When Gandalf finally showed, however, it seemed her curiosity got the better of her, and no normal person can hide from a wizard for long. He caught her peeking around the corner. 

"Forgive me Bilbo, I didn't realize you were entertaining other guests this evening."

"Not a guest. Gandalf, this is Wren, my tenant for the past two years."

"Is that so? Do pardon my manners, my lady."

"It's okay," she said quietly, staring with some mix of awe and trepidation, though Biblo couldn't be sure if that was because Gandalf was a wizard, or if she was unused to looking _up_ at someone after so long around hobbits. She was still holding her guitar, like a favorite toy a fauntling might cling to when they're scared. But then she steeled herself, took a deep breath and said, "Thorin's going to be late. Before he gets here, there's some things we need to discuss, _Olòrin._ " 

•

This night had not gone at all the way Thorin expected.

The meeting in the northern mountains of Ered Luin had run long, and not even to his benefit. It left his journey a day behind the rest of his company, and so he was forced to travel longer, with less sleep, to make up the time. The Shire itself was a maze of hills and farmland, and by nightfall he was entirely lost. It was only by chance, on his second turn around, that he spotted a mark on a round, green door, clearly left by a wizard.

But Gandalf was no where to be found. The door was answered by a hobbit, with honey curls and kind eyes, who promptly ushered Thorin inside. He took Thorin's cloak and pack without asking, but stored them carefully in a coat closet, with what looked like the rest of the company's belongings, and asked what he preferred to eat. That wasn't right. They had been promised supper and lodgings, yes, but there was business to discuss. Was the hobbit even aware of his role in their endeavor? 

"I was told by Gandalf the Grey-"

"Yes, yes, he's here - although currently occupied with my tenant in some secret affair. Until they sort themselves and join us, I insist you eat. I won't have any guest of mine going hungry."

The hobbit - Bilbo Baggins - all but manhandled him down the hall, where he was met by his kin. 

"Best not to fight it, laddie," Balin greeted him warmly. "Master Baggins has been a dutiful host indeed." 

Despite the claims of some, Thorin knew when a battle was lost, so he simply nodded, sat down at the head of the table and grabbed himself a plate. It was an unusual feeling - though perhaps not entirely unwelcome - being fussed over by their would-be burglar. There was still doubt in his mind that a hobbit would be anything but a liability on their quest, but he could concede that Master Baggins was a decent sort. He traded anecdotes with Bofur over ale, was respectful in asking Balin about dwarven customs - it seemed he was a scholarly sort - and kept his patience remarkably well at the antics of Thorin's nephews. 

As the last of the dishes were cleaned (to the amusing tune of ' _That's What Bilbo Baggins Hates_ ') Gandalf finally saw fit to join them. Trailing behind him was a young woman, of the race of men, with dark skin and long raven black hair. Master Baggins ran to her side quickly, and they spoke to each other in rushed whispers as Gandalf greeted the party.

"Thorin Oakenshield! I trust you found your way alright?" 

"Well enough." Thorin didn't think it necessary to admit he'd lost his way. "You arrived before I did, and yet I'm told you've been busy. What kept you?" 

There was an odd gleam in the wizard's eye as he gestured back to the girl. 

"Ahh yes. Merely sorting the finer details of our fifteenth companion." 

"Fifteen?" Thorin asked incredulously. "I was under the impression we lacked only a burglar."

"At the time of our last meeting, yes, but things have changed since then. I assure you, she will be a most invaluable asset to your cause." 

He looked again to the girl with a skeptical eye. She was not tall, by the standards of men - perhaps less than a head taller than Thorin himself - and thin as a rail. Her young face and wide eyes betrayed the innocence of her youth. He doubted she would be any more at home in the wild than Master Baggins. 

She must have felt his gaze, or else heard them speaking, because she chose then to walk over and introduce herself. 

"Wren Aguilar, at your service." 

Her bow was a tad awkward, but low and proper, and Thorin returned in kind. 

"Thorin, son of Thrain, at yours and your family's." 

"Have you given him the key yet?" she asked Gandalf, who let out an indignant huff.

"There is an order to these matters, my lady."

"Well then _ándale_ , let's get on with it. Go, sit around the table, gossip about a dragon. I'm gonna grab some coffee." 

And with that statement she was gone. Thorin couldn't help but smirk at the sight - Gandalf the Grey being ordered about by a child. 

Business resumed after that. Thorin updated the company on the meeting in Ered Luin. Gandalf revealed the map and key given to him by his father. It was both more and less than he had hoped for. His cousins in the Iron Hills wouldn't support them, but Thorin couldn't entirely blame them for it. The venture was a gamble at best, and no one wanted more lives lost to the dragon. But with the key, they had a way into the mountain. An army wasn't necessary if they could sneak their way in. 

"The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage," said Gandalf. "But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done." He looked to Master Baggins, who all the while had been listening attentively, staring into the middle distance with a pinched brow.

"That's why we need a burglar!" Ori exclaimed. 

"Yes..." he muttered quietly to himself. "An expert, I'd imagine..." 

"And are you?" Glòin asked.

That seemed to snap their hobbit back to present. 

"What? Oh, no no no! Despite what Gandalf has undoubtedly told you, I am no burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life!"

"But he is very sneaky when he wants to be." Miss Aguilar had returned, appearing over Gandalf's shoulder with a mug in her hands and a wry grin on her face. "Even for a hobbit, if he doesn't want to be bothered, you won't find him."

He shot her an exasperated look. "I do believe that hiding from annoying relatives is quite different than sneaking about a fire-breathing dragon!"

"I don't know. Lobelia can be quite the snake."

She sipped her coffee.

"Wren, you're being ridiculous."

"Do you think I'm crazy?" she asked him pointedly.

That seemed to catch him. His eyes softened as he said, "You know that I don't." 

"You believe that I can see things before they happen?" 

He chuckled slightly. "If I didn't before, then the thirteen dwarves in my dining room have certainly proven otherwise." 

"Then trust me," she insisted. "You want to go on this quest. I know you do. Sight or no sight, it's obvious you're bored out of your skull in the Shire. Let's go see the world!"

"The world is dangerous! Can you promise me I'll even survive this quest?"

"Yes!"

They were silent for a moment, and Thorin could see the wheels turning in Master Baggins' head. Finally, he sighed, and with an air of resignation said, "Oh, very well."

Cheers went up around the table as Balin produced the contract for Master Baggins to sign. 

"Better look over that somewhere he can sit down," the girl offered, and so the old dwarf left with their burglar to another room. 

A few seats down, Bofur spoke up. "Not to spoil the moment, but might we return to the part where the lass can ' _see things before they happen_ '?"

That had stuck out to Thorin as well. Interestingly, Miss Aguilar turned to Gandalf with a disapproving look.

"You didn't tell them?"

"Well, the moment had yet to present itself..." 

She rolled her eyes. "And when would the right moment be? When we reached Erebor? _¡Hijole!_ Were you expecting them to accept me on blind faith?"

At least the girl was self aware. Thorin was hard pressed to believe her claims, but he stayed silent as she addressed the room. 

"It's true," she said, looking around to each member of the company before her eyes fell to Thorin. They held each other's gaze for a moment, and in her eyes he saw conviction. "I've seen the outcome of this quest. I know the dangers. And I want to help."

"Why?" Thorin asked. "What stake do you have in our success?"

"...I don't know yet," she answered. He noticed her begin to fidget with the cup in her hands, and her eyes became unsure. "I appeared in the Shire two years ago, with no memory of how I got here. All I knew was that you would come, eventually, so I waited. But if I've seen your future - which I have, many times over - then me being here has to mean something."

"If not here, then where are you from? If I may," asked Dori. 

"...far enough away that it's not on any maps of Middle Earth."

That created some buzz around the table. Whispers of ' _the far east perhaps?'_ or _'maybe the south, don't think I've ever seen a map of the south'_ could be heard. 

Thorin couldn't help but remain skeptical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate ending this chapter so short, but I'm having trouble with the next part & I just wanted to get what I had out there...so...apologies for the short chapter  
> updates will probably remain this level of inconsistent  
> but I really do appreciate everyone's patience & especially those that have left such sweet comments! ♡


End file.
